Myths And Legends Of Our Own Land, Complete

Page: 179

THE WITCH OF PICTURED ROCKS

On the Pictured Rocks of Lake Superior dwelt an Ojibway woman, a widow,
who was cared for by a relative. This relative was a hunter, the husband
of an agreeable wife, the father of two bright children. Being of a mean
and jealous nature, the widow begrudged every kindness that the hunter
showed to his wife—the skins he brought for her clothing, the
moose's lip or other dainty that he saved for her; and one day, in a
pretence of fine good-nature, the old woman offered to give the younger a
swing in a vine pendent from a tree that overhung the lake.

The wife accepted, and, seating herself on the vine, was swayed to and
fro, catching her breath, yet laughing as she swept out over the water.
When the momentum was greatest the old woman cut the stem. A splash was
heard—then all was silent. Returning to the lodge, the hag disguised
herself in a dress of the missing woman, and sitting in a shadow,
pretended to nurse the infant of the household. The hunter, returning, was
a little surprised that his wife should keep her face from him, and more
surprised that the old woman did not appear for her share of the food that
he had brought; but after their meal he took his little ones to the lake,
to enjoy the evening breeze, when the elder burst into tears, declaring
that the woman in the lodge was not his mother, and that he feared his own
mother was dead or lost.

The hunter hurled his spear into the earth and prayed that, if his wife
were dead, her body might be found, so he could mourn over it and give it
burial. Instantly a bolt of lightning came from a passing cloud and shot
into the lake, while the thunder-peal that followed shook the stones he
stood on. It also disturbed the water and presently something was seen
rising through it. The man stepped into a thicket and watched. In a few
moments a gull arose from the lake and flew to the spot where the children
were seated. Around its body was a leather belt, embroidered with beads
and quills, which the hunter recognized, and, advancing softly, he caught
the bird—that changed at once into the missing woman. The family set
forth toward home, and as they entered the lodge the witch—for such
she was—looked up, with a start, then uttered a cry of despair.
Bending low, she moved her arms in both imprecation and appeal. A moment
later a black, ungainly bird flew from the wigwam and passed from sight
among the trees. The witch never came back to plague them.

THE ORIGIN OF WHITE-FISH

An Indian who lived far in the north was so devoted to the chase that he
was never at home for the whole of a day, to the sorrow of his two boys,
who liked nothing so much as to sport with him and to be allowed to
practise with his weapons. Their mother told them that on no account were
they to speak to him of the young man who visited the lodge while their
father was away, and it was not until they were well grown and knew what
the duty of wives should be that they resolved to disobey her. The hunter
struck the woman dead when he learned of her perfidy. So greatly did her
spirit trouble them, however, that they could no longer abide in their old
home in peace and comfort, and they left the country and journeyed
southward until they came to the Sault Sainte Marie.

As they stood beside the falls a head came rolling toward them on the
earth—the head of the dead woman. At that moment, too, a crane was
seen riding on the surface of the water, whirling about in its strongest
eddies, and when one of the boys called to it, "O Grandfather, we are
persecuted by a spirit; take us across the falls," the crane flew to them.
"Cling to my back and do not touch my head," it said to them, and landed
them safely on the farther shore.

But now the head screamed, "Come, grandfather, and carry me over, for I
have lost my children and am sorely distressed," and the bird flew to her
likewise. "Be careful not to touch my head," it said. The head promised
obedience, but succumbed to curiosity when half-way over and touched the
bird's head to see what was the matter with him. With a lurch the crane
flung off his burden and it fell into the rapids. As it swept down,
bumping against the rocks, the brains were pounded out and strewn over the
water. "You were useless in life," cried the crane. "You shall not be so
in death. Become fish!" And the bits of brain changed to roe that
presently hatched to a delicate white fish, the flesh whereof is esteemed
by Indians of the lakes, and white men, likewise. The family pitched a
lodge near the spot and took the crane as their totem or name-mark. Many
of their descendants bear it to this day.

THE SPIRIT OF CLOUDY

Among the lumbermen of Alger, Michigan, was William Cloud, an Indian,
usually called Cloudy, who was much employed on a chute a mile and a half
out of the village. The rains were heavy one spring, and a large raft of
logs had been floated down to the chute, where they were held back by a
gate until it was time to send them through in a mass. When the creek had
reached its maximum height the foreman gave word to the log-drivers to
lower the gate and let the timber down. This order came on a chilly April
night, and, as it was pitchy dark and rain was falling in sheets, the
lumbermen agreed to draw cuts to decide which of them should venture out
and start the logs. Cloudy drew the fatal slip. He was a quiet fellow, and
without a word he opened the door, bent against the storm, and passed into
the darkness. An hour went by, and the men in the cabin laughed as they
described the probable appearance of their comrade when he should return,
soaked through and through, and they wondered if he was waiting in some
shelter beside the path for the middle of the night to pass, for the
Indians believed that an evil spirit left the stream every night and was
abroad until that hour.